My heart nearly stopped. The voice on the other end of the line seemed to stretch out each word like it carried a thousand pounds.
“We found her purse, but…”
My chest tightened. I clutched the phone so hard my knuckles went white, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“But what? Where is she?”
A pause. I could hear the faint hum of voices in the background, then finally:
“…but she’s safe. She’s here at the community center.”
Relief hit me like a tidal wave. My knees buckled, and I pressed my forehead against the wall, trying to catch my breath. Safe. She was safe.
When I arrived, the fluorescent lights buzzed above me, and I scanned the crowded room until my eyes found her—my daughter—curled up in a corner chair. Her hoodie was pulled low over her face, her shoulders trembling. She looked impossibly small.
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